


The Sanitarium Of Death

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!, Armadale - Wilkie Collins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam Adamant encounters a beautiful woman who's obviously fallen prey to the foulest of plots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sanitarium Of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a crossover conversations meme: _Give me two characters from different fandoms you know I'm familiar with, and I'll give you a dialogue happening between the two of them. Without justifying how the crossover would work, how their worlds clashed or how they could even meet each other. Just a silly crossover conversation with no backstory, for fun._
> 
> [lost_spook](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/) gave me a choice of characters to meet Adam, and I couldn't resist the thought of him coming across Lydia at a crucial moment.

"Madam? Can you hear me?" 

Darkness was whirling about Lydia. From whence the voice came, she knew not; nor could she tell if she was alive, dead, or in some other state entirely. Nevertheless, some long-held instinct of caution warned her to make no move, show no sign that she had heard. 

"Madam?" 

She felt the gentle pressure of a finger on her eyelid, and light exploded into her aching head. 

"Less light," she whispered, not knowing if she was speaking or only imagining that she spoke. But it seemed she had been heard; the harsh light diminished. 

"Thank Heaven," the unknown said. It was a man's voice, not one that Lydia recognised. "I feared that the fiends had done you some serious harm." 

Lydia opened her eyes a fraction. Despite the hammering pain in her head, her faithful instincts of self-preservation were already fully roused. It was clear that this man, whoever he might be, had saved her from the gas-filled room; and no less clear that he was unaware of her responsibility in filling it with gas in the first place. 

"What happened?" she asked, not needing to feign the weakness in her voice. 

"I am afraid, madam, I am not cognizant of all the circumstances. I happened to be passing the Sanitarium and saw your silhouette at the window; as I caught sight of you, you fell as if struck down. I lost no time in effecting an entrance, and discovered you lying where you fell. The blackguards had contrived to flood the room with a gas that I believe is known as 'whitedamp', and kills in a very few minutes. But Doctor le Doux is confident that you will make a full recovery, as will the other gentleman who succumbed." 

"Thank you." By now Lydia had managed to open her eyes and take stock of her situation. The room looked familiar; this was the deputy-physician's room, where the night attendant would keep watch over the Sanitarium's sleeping patients. She was lying on the attendant's narrow bed, with the unknown man bending over her. He was young, tall, handsome, dressed as for a night at the theatre. 

"Who are you?" she asked. 

He bowed. "Adam Llewellyn de Vere Adamant. At your service, madam." 

"And yours." Lydia considered her position. Her true name must on no account come to his ears; with two Armadales already present in the Sanitarium, it would not do for him to suspect she had any connexion with them. And her maiden name had best not be mentioned, either. "My name is Sarah Walker." 

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Walker." He took his seat in a chair beside the bed, and gave her a sympathetic look. "You are a patient here, I take it?" 

"I have been afflicted with a nervous disorder since the death of my poor husband," Lydia began. "Doctor le Doux was kind enough to admit me to his Sanitarium as a patient. 

"With my nerves as they are, I frequently find that I have difficulty sleeping. So it was tonight. I woke and, unable to sleep, stepped out into the corridor. There was no attendant on duty. I went in search of the doctor, but he was nowhere to be found. When I descended the staircase, the door of Number Four was open, and a man was lying outside it. My curiosity was, I fear, aroused—" 

Mr Adamant sighed. "How often have I seen the fairer sex succumb to that temptation! You decided to investigate the room?" 

"My first thought was for the man in the corridor," Lydia said, allowing a touch of stiffness to creep into her voice. It was as well, after all, to give her story a leaven of truth. "He appeared to be alive, but I could not rouse him, so I went into the room to see if there was anybody who could help him. Then... I suppose I must have swooned." 

"You saw nobody else?" 

"Not a soul." 

Mr Adamant nodded. "It would seem that you have been fortunate to escape with your life. But the gang may still be at large in this building, and I must go in search of them at once. Can you walk?" 

Lydia contrived to get to her feet, moving perhaps a little more slowly and weakly than she actually felt. "A few steps, at most," she said. 

"Then you had better remain here. Lock the door behind me, and look through the grille before admitting anybody." 

"I understand." She smiled timidly at him. "I am most grateful to you, sir." 

He bowed, and was gone. 

Having locked the door behind him, Lydia leaned on the back of the chair. The fog of pain surrounding her mind seemed to be clearing, and she was able to give proper consideration to her strategy. Mr Adamant clearly had no idea that she was anything more than a stranger, caught up in events. But that happy state of affairs hung by a thread; a word from Midwinter, or a glance at the establishment's ledgers, would reveal enough of the truth to rouse his suspicions. If she was to escape investigation, arrest, trial and the full penalty of the law, she must leave without delay — but, equally, without any alarm being given. 

Or should she resign herself once more to that fatal mood which had sent her walking into the gas-filled room? True, that opportunity had passed; the gas must by now have been harmlessly dispersed. But in this Sanitarium there must be many other suitable tools. Even the sleeping-draught that the nurse had left in her bedroom. A small bottle, only a flight of stairs away. It would be the work of five minutes to retrieve it. 

⁂

At the sound of Adam's knock, Lydia was on her feet and at the grille. 

"Mrs Walker?" he asked softly. 

Reassured that he was alone, Lydia turned the key, and admitted him once more. 

"Did you find them?" she asked. 

"No. No, I did not." Adam took her hand. "I fear the blackguards must have made their escape while I was attending to you." 

"But how did they get in?" She clutched at his arm. "I might have been murdered in my bed!" 

"There is no indication of forced entry. That suggests that the villains had a confederate within the premises: possibly Doctor le Doux or his head nurse." 

"Doctor le Doux? Impossible! I—" 

She allowed her eyes to roll up, and collapsed adroitly into his arms. 

"Mrs Walker!" She felt herself lowered onto the bed, and Adam's hasty steps across the room. Among the sparse furnishings was a cabinet on the wall, containing the most basic of medical supplies. She heard a rattling and a clink of glass; then a beaker was lifted to her mouth, and the taste of brandy was on her lips. She took a tiny sip, and groaned. 

"Mr Adamant," she murmured. "Please forgive my foolishness. My nerves are in a sadly weakened state." 

"Of course." 

She turned her eyes on him. "You will remain with me, won't you, and protect me? Until the morning, when I can leave safely." 

"I'm sure there is very little danger now." 

"Even so, I would be easier in my mind if you were here." She essayed a weak smile. "Might I ask a question?" 

"By all means, Mrs Walker." 

"How did you come to be outside the Sanitarium at dead of night?" 

"It was in connection with my investigation of the theft of the Duchess of Silchester's pearl necklace. I suspected that a ruffian by the name of Geoffrey Randall was responsible, and made it my business to track him until he attempted to fence his ill-gotten gains — that is, to sell them on to a dealer in stolen property." His voice becoming hoarse, he glanced at the beaker of brandy in his hand; with a graceful gesture, Lydia made clear that she relinquished any claim to it. "Randall had arranged to meet his confederate at half-past ten in a nearby village: to be precise, at the Royal Oak in Golders Green." He refreshed himself with the brandy, and winced. "A sadly raw spirit. I made it my business to observe the criminals..." 

Lydia listened intently, leaning forward with a keen attention that was entirely unfeigned. The quantity of brandy remaining in the beaker attracted no less attention from her than had, earlier that night, the quantity of acid in the Purple Flask. 

"I had previously sent a note to Inspector—" Adam yawned. "My apologies, Mrs Walker. I had sent a—" Adam yawned again, and slid from the chair to the floor. Lydia was already on her feet, bending over him; his eyes seemed to be staring past her, or through her. Then they closed, as the sleeping draught took hold of him. 

"So clever," he murmured, as Lydia knelt beside him and made a hasty search of his pockets. "But oh, so vulnerable..." 

As she hurried away from Fairweather Vale, Lydia found her mind — such of it not engaged in planning her escape — dwelling on Mr Adamant's final remark. Of course, he had been succumbing to the laudanum she had added to the brandy. It was absurd to expect rational speech from any man in such condition. 

_So clever, but oh, so vulnerable._

Nonetheless, she couldn't help wondering which of them he might have been referring to.


End file.
